


foundation

by MyGirlfriendsAttic



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, i made Marzia and Chiara gay because I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-23 20:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyGirlfriendsAttic/pseuds/MyGirlfriendsAttic
Summary: The summertime of Italy was a time of fancy, where days waned by in golden shimmer and the air seemed to bloom with an endless multitude of possibilities. One truth held concrete, however: that a single person in possession of a great fortune must be in want of a spouse. At least, that is what Mafalda insisted.—Pride and Prejudice AU where Oliver is Darcy and Elio is reluctantly charmed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is wildly self-indulgent. I’ve been in a complete Pride and Prejudice craze lately, and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I just hope others enjoy it as well! 
> 
> Let me know if you spot any mistakes. 
> 
> Also, this is not going to be historically accurate. At all. Forgive me.

Chapter 1

The summertime of Italy was a time of fancy, where days waned by in golden shimmer and the air seemed to bloom with an endless multitude of possibilities. One truth held concrete, however: that a single person in possession of a great fortune must be in want of a spouse. At least, that is what Mafalda insisted.

“And did you hear? The villa is rented for the summer again.”

“Why, I hadn't heard a word of that,” Mrs. Perlman mused, running her fingers through Elio’s dark curls, wild from sleep. Elio hummed, picking at the eggs on his plate.

“And would you believe who rented it?” Mafalda paused, expectant.

“You haven’t given us the chance; we hardly know who,” Mr. Perlman said. Elio met his eyes over the table and smirked.

“Why, Miss Chiara, who has come back, I’m sure, to finally make an offer on our Marzia.” At this declaration, said Marzia’s head snapped up, her brown eyes widening.

“Chiara?” she asked softly. Her brow furrowed and she sent a worried glance at Elio.

“Yes, finally returned from America, and employed in B. for five thousand a year. It seems that pricy American education has proven beneficial,” Mafalda continued obliviously. “And I would hate to over step, my dear Perlmans, but now is the time to remind the miss of our existence - or of one existence in particular.” Here, she shot a pointed look at Marzia.

“My dear Mafalda, I fear I am missing your point. It is far too subtly made.” Elio hid a snort in a bite of eggs. “You wish to visit Miss Chiara?” Mr. Perlman asked.

“Mr. Perlman, you do like to abuse my poor nerves. Why would I wish to visit the miss? I am merely reminding the family of the wonderful opportunity in reintroducing Marzia to Miss Chiara. A secure match, perhaps…” Mafalda trailed off. Elio wondered if she thought her hints sly.

“And why would Miss Chiara be seeking a match?”

“Why? How could she not be, sir? With a making of five thousand a year, it is high time. Any single person of such high income is surely in search of a companion. It is only logical. Oh, surely others have spoken with her already, introduced their eligible children! Mr. Perlman, you must make haste; it may already be too late!”

“You work yourself into a pointless frenzy,” Mr. Perlman commented lightly, unfolding the newspaper before him. “I’ve already spoken with her. She’s hosting a coming home party next week.”

Mafalda stared at him a moment, opened her mouth heatedly several times, and closed it angrily. She stalked into the kitchen, muttering under her breath. “My poor nerves...already spoken...a party, even ….” Elio shared an look with his mother, who suppressed a smile. Marzia looked conflicted and pale. Mr. Perlman turned back to his newspaper, self satisfied.

—

“Marzia, I can hear you thinking,” Elio said from the piano bench, cutting his piece short.

“Play louder, then,” Marzia said. She was gazing out the window, and she didn’t spare a glance for Elio.

“You don’t have to worry. I guarantee Chiara will be tripping over herself when she sees you - she’d be a fool not to. There’s not a single person in the room who won’t be charmed by you.”

Marzia turned to look at him. “I fear you’re a poor judge of the sentiments of others.”

“No, actually, I find others far too easy to judge,” Elio smiled. “I’m much less easily charmed than you.”

A smile finally tugged itself unwillingly onto Marzia’s face. “Elio, someday you’ll judge someone far too hastily, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“I’d rather be sorry once than constantly duped by the charming facades of others,” he said. “But quit trying to shift the subject - you’re going to be beautiful, Chiara is going to be charmed, and I will once again be proven correct.”

Marzia gazed back to the golden country outside the window, smile still hanging on her face. “We shall see,” she murmured.

—

“Are you going to entertain us tonight, son of mine?” asked Mr. Perlman. The hearty glow of the lighting shone across his face, and couples spun and stumbled by merrily. The party was in full tilt, the new villa of Miss Chiara packed with curious townspeople and glowing with the delights of wine and gossip.

“And miss dancing?” Elio inquired.

“You can miss a few dances. Mafalda has been bragging about your skills the whole evening - it would be a travesty to rob the good people of your playing.”

“They’ve all heard it, Papa. I rather think they’re sick of it.”

“Nonsense! I’ll get you on that piano bench before the evening end, you mark my word. Else Mafalda will scalp the both of us.”

“Let -“ Elio cut off abruptly as a hush suddenly came over the party. Dancing halted and one by one heads turned towards the entrance of the villa.

“There she is,” Marzia murmured, appearing at Elio’s side suddenly. He jumped as her hand cupped his elbow.

“Lord, Marzia, where did you come from?” he asked.

“I just now escaped the arms of a particularly seedy gentleman. But never mind that; Chiara is entering. And who is that, beside her?”

 _Who, indeed?_ Elio thought, drinking in the appearance of the fair man entering beside Chiara. He was undeniably handsome, jaw strict and clean shaven, golden hair thick on his head and dusting his arms and the line where his shirt teased his chest. His eyes were strikingly blue and held an odd coldness, a sort of detachment from the crowd around him. Tall and fair and mature - he looked charismatically masculine, Elio thought, unsure of whether to be filled with admiration or envy.

“That would be Mr. Oliver Stern; word has it that he makes ten thousand a year, and owns a grand estate in America,” commented a bystander lowly.

“Rich _and_ handsome,” another muttered.

Elio watched as Oliver smiled charmingly at some fluttering townsperson or another. As the person left, Oliver’s smile morphed into something of a grimace and an eye roll.

“And pompous,” Elio added. Marzia elbowed him. The other two companions ignored him.

“Rumor is he’s staying in this very villa for the entirety of the summer; his American parents are pushing him to have foreign connections.”

“Hmm,” the other said. “Or a pretty little foreign spouse.”

“And how would you know that?” Elio snapped, finally overcome with irritation. The two people scattered quickly after that. Marzia sent Elio a chiding look.

“Really, Elly, was that nec-“ Marzia was cut off by the arrival of Mafalda, who grasped Marzia’s elbow excitedly.

“Come quickly, dear - Miss Chiara is standing right over there, now is the moment to strike.”

“You make Marzia sound like a bird of prey,” Elio commented. Mafalda placed one hand on Elio’s arm.

“You come, too, Elio. That Mr. Stern may just snap you up,” she said, already pulling them in the direction of her two victims.

“And if I don’t wish to be snapped up…?” he asked. He received no answer as the conversation was cut short and they arrived in front of Chiara and Oliver.

“Miss Chiara, Mr. Stern, I present these two lovely youth, Elio and Marzia,” Mafalda said proudly. Over her head, Elio managed to lock eyes with his mother from across the room, to who he sent a panicked look. She smiled and turned back to her companion.

 _Traitor_ , he thought.

“Miss Chiara, I am sure you remember our lovely Marzia,” Mafalda hinted. When Elio turned to observe the two young women, they were gazing at each other in seeming wonder.

“It has been…several years,” Chiara acknowledged. “But I could never forget Marzia.” The two smiled at each other, almost sickeningly sweet, and Elio felt a smile coming on in response to Marzia’s obvious happiness.

“Welcome home,” Marzia said softly.

“Dance with me,” Chiara blurted. “That is, I mean to say…would you care to dance with me? Right now?” Marzia’s cheeks colored, but she acquiesced and followed Chiara out onto the dance floor, hand in hand. Mafalda looked on smugly. When Elio turned back from watching them, he immediately met the eyes of Mr. Oliver Stern.

“Marzia is our great beauty,” Mafalda was saying. “Such a catch. Looks to match her sweet disposition, I’m sure.” Oliver, Elio noticed, did not look particularly interested. He held Elio’s gaze despite being addressed by Mafalda. His eyes were even bluer up close, and his height and golden tan seemed more contrasting next to Elio’s pale, delicate stature than ever before. He was frustratingly handsome, if detached.

“Of course,” Mafalda continued bravely, when no one responded, “Elio has a beauty of his own, does he not?”

“Miss Mafalda-“ Elio began, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Mr. Stern, everyone is already paired off to dance! I doubt you will find a more appetizing partner than right here. Why don’t you and Elio take a turn?” Mafalda continued, completing Elio’s mortification.

Before he could assure Mr. Stern that he did not, in fact, need to “take a turn,” the man finally spoke.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, voice low and smooth. “But I do not dance.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

“Why!” Mafalda gasped. “I’ve never met so rude a man! Be thankful he snubbed you, Elio, otherwise you might have to marry him.”

“Yes, or he might snap me up - that would be a tragedy,” Elio said. Mafalda sent him a dark look, and then she too disappeared, huffing.

A few dances later, a flushed Marzia appeared at Elio’s side. “Did you dance at all?” she asked. She was slightly out of breath from exertion.

“Yes, several times, but unlike you, I actually switched partners,” he teased. Marzia could not suppress a smile.

“Yes, I suppose we did dance for quite awhile. But oh, I’m too nervous to talk on it - let’s talk about your evening. Who did you dance with?”

“A few ladies and gentleman, all considerably too old to spark Mafalda's imagination for a match,” he said.

“Oh! But speaking of her active imagination, where did that Mr. Stern run off to? Did you dance with him? I know she sniffed out a pair there,” Marzia said.

“She did sniff out a match between us, I’m sure, though her nose seems astray, per usual. He was extremely taciturn - he barely talked except to insist he didn’t dance.”

“How rude!” Marzia exclaimed. “Yes, but it was rather amusing to watch Mafalda’s face turn scarlet with anger.”

Marzia laughed reluctantly. “Elio, you do enjoy seeing her tortured entirely too much! What will we ever do with you? But - why, there’s Mr. Stern dancing right now!”

Indeed, Mr. Stern was spinning with Miss Chiara not five feet away from Marzia and Elio. _I was wrong before,_ Elio thought. _Now my mortification is complete._ The two were quite close, Mr. Stern’s gloved hand at the small of her waist, mere inches between them. They seemed to be talking lowly to each other. Marzia’s happy glow faded a bit.

“Well, it seems he gained a new penchant for dancing in the past half hour,” Elio muttered. “But do not fret, Marzia; Miss Chiara looked much more in awe of you than she is of him. Understandable, I might add.”

“You flatter me,” she murmured. “But what do you think they’re speaking of?”

“Let’s listen,” Elio insisted.

“I’m not so sure-“

“Shh! We’re missing it.” As the two fell into silence, the other conversation became audible.

“Really, you can’t only dance with me, Oliver,” Chiara was saying. “There are plenty of agreeable young men and women here. Many of which I’m sure would be delighted to dance with you.”

 _Delighted is a strong word_ , Elio thought venomously, unable, for some strange reason, to peel his eyes away from where Mr. Stern’s hand rested on Miss Chiara’s waist.

“Why bother with anyone else, when I have a lovely partner right here, and you have already taken up nearly all the dances of the other fairest option in the room?” Mr. Stern responded. To anyone else, his tone may have sounded charming, but Elio knew better.

“Yes, Miss Marzia is stunning, isn’t she?” Beside Elio, Marzia’s face flushed with pleasure and he saw her cover a smile with her hand. “But her companion, Elio… he is rather agreeable too, is her not?” Miss Chiara added this last part slyly.

“I suppose he is merely tolerable. He’s certainly not handsome enough to tempt me.” _I was doubly wrong,_ Elio thought, stunned. _My mortification has only now been completed._ Marzia grabbed Elio’s arm and dragged him away from the other couple.

“Dear Lord,” she scoffed. “Elio, ignore him. He is obviously an arrogant, blind fool. You are above him in every way.”

“And you say that I flatter you,” Elio said wryly, opting for stoicism rather than offense.

“It is only true. And besides,” Marzia added, her tone now lighter, “if he liked you then you may actually have to speak to him. That would be a travesty.”

“You know,” Elio laughed, “that is almost exactly what Mafalda said.”

“Oh my. Now that is frightening,” Marzia laughed with him.

The current piece came to a close and couples broke apart to find new partners around them. Elio was about to suggest an early departure - he had suffered one too many insults in the night - when Miss Chiara suddenly spoke behind them.

“Why, Miss Marzia, Mr. Elio, there you both are! All of this dancing is proper exercise, wouldn’t you say?” she asked. Mr. Stern lurked quietly behind her. Elio wondered how difficult it had been to drag him over.

“Yes, it has been rather tiring! Though fun, of course,” Marzia answered.

“Elio, do tell us,” Miss Chiara said suddenly, causing Elio’s eyes to snap away from Mr. Stern and to her. “Mr. Stern is brand new to this area of the world, and he hardly knows what to do with himself. Tell us, what is there to do here?”

‘Why are you asking me?’ Elio wanted to ask. ‘You’ve lived here, too.’

“Play piano, transcribe music, swim - not all that much,” he said instead. “It’s rather peaceful.”

“Oh, these are all solitary activities! I reckon Mr. Stern is searching for something a little more pair oriented,” she insisted. Mr. Stern looked constipated.

“If you’re sure,” Elio said doubtfully, before he was struck with inspiration. “Well, I suppose walks through the countryside are always a pleasant activity for pairs. And dancing, of course...even if one’s partner is merely _tolerable_.”

Mr. Stern’s cold blue eyes widened at this, and Elio was vindicated to see they no longer looked so distant. Rather, they look horrified. Satisfied, Elio turned on his heel and left, triumphant smirk coming to his face. Marzia could handle those two, figure out some way to excuse his sudden exit; he had had enough for one night.

So preoccupied with getting away, Elio couldn’t have seen Mr. Stern’s blue eyes following his every move out, unwavering.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is Oliver. Elio is offended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently discovered the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. I watched 50 in one sitting. If that's not a recommendation, I don't know what is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! Once again, please let me know if you spot any mistakes.

“He was the _rudest_ man I’ve ever met in my life,” Mafalda ranted over the next morning’s breakfast. “He was anti-social and abrupt; it was entirely unbecoming.” The delicate cups and plates rattled with the force of her setting them down on the table.

“Yes, it seems peculiar,” Mrs. Perlman commented lightly. “Miss Chiara is such a charming young woman; why befriend someone who makes such a poor impression?”

“Perhaps he is filled with a hidden good,” Mr. Perlman mused. Elio made a tremendous effort not to roll his eyes. “Perhaps his first impression is not a true representation of his character.”

“And perhaps it is extremely accurate,” Elio commented, unable to help himself.

“Yes, I think the impression he made quite clear,” Mafalda said. “Why, he left us so abruptly, and with such little politeness, he couldn’t have made his character clearer.”

“Just watch,” Elio said. “This is how he will leave us when the time comes - silently, and with a glare for good measure. Do you not think it arrogant?”

“I think it shy,” his father said. The small gathering looked at him in confusion. “Truly, I do. I think we must give him the time to perhaps grow out of this shyness. Who knows? Perhaps in time you will grow to tolerate him.”

“And perhaps I will grow to hate him.”

“Elio!” his mother chided. Elio took a deep breath, suddenly embarrassed by his outburst. He had intended to handle the situation with a calm coolness and an unaffected air. Instead, his cheeks felt warm with leftover anger, and now, embarrassment.

“Can we change the topic?” he said. “Perhaps to something more interesting.” Mr. Perlman raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

“Oh, I suppose _one_ of our wards wasn’t so callously rejected -” Mafalda began, eagerly jumping on the chance to speak of Marzia’s triumphs.

“I wasn’t rejected -” Elio tried to protest, but she continued over him.

“In fact, I daresay we can expect a proposal any day now! Miss Chiara was simply entranced by our Marzia. And why wouldn’t she be? Marzia’s beauty is unparalleled.”

Marzia colored. “Miss Mafalda, you are too kind. And far too generous with your prediction, I daresay.”

“Is she? So the letter I received this morning from Miss Chiara, inviting you to dine with her tonight, is a not a sign of interest?” Mr. Perlman asked slyly. Mafalda let out an outraged gasp, as a surprised but delighted smile spread across Marzia’s face.

“And you mentioned _nothing_ of this until now? Oh, Mr. Perlman, you are a danger to my nerves!” she cried, grabbing his unfinished plate and whisking out of the room.

“I was not finished with that,” he said.

“You do torment her,” Mrs. Perlman chided, though a smile was on her face. “It would not trouble you to disclose information to her when she so obviously would take delight in it.”

“No, but it would not amuse me, either, and this, my dear, amuses me greatly.”

Meanwhile, Elio turned to Marzia and smiled. “See! Your modesty has made no difference; Miss Chiara is obviously interested in you. I fear there’s no escape for you now - Mafalda is  likely writing a menu for your wedding supper this very instant.”

“She shouldn’t get ahead of herself - and neither should I,” Marzia insists, though her smile would not be suppressed.

“And when should she set out to make it to the villa in time for supper?” Mrs. Perlman wondered. “I suppose we will have to get the carriage into order

“I think not,” Mafalda declared as she swept into the room again. “My sincere apologies, but the carriage is not fit to ride - some repairs must be made. She’ll be riding horseback.”

“Somehow I feel she’s scheming,” Elio murmured to Marzia. “She never apologizes.”

“On horseback? Exposed to the elements?” Mrs. Perlman questioned.

“Well, it’s not as if she can take the carriage. Would you rather she walk?” Mafalda said innocently.

Mariza shook her head, smiling. “I can hardly bring myself to care,” she whispered back. Elio rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” he said.

“Alright, Mafalda,” Mr. Perlman declared beside them. “You win. She rides on horseback.”

\----

Marzia set out in late afternoon, when the sun was just beginning to droop from its afternoon perch. The fields, green-golden with summer, swayed around her figure on the horse until they enveloped her completely and she was gone.

Mafalda watched eagerly from the kitchen window.

“She looks nearly predatory,” Elio observed to his father.

“There is a disturbing amount of hunger on her face,” he acknowledged. Then they dispersed, leaving Mafalda to her window-watching.

She was still there a half hour later, smile smug as the weather turned foul and rain came down in torrents. Thunder rattled the walls.

“I suppose there is no way Miss Chiara will be sending her home in this weather, and on horseback of all things,” Mafalda said. She sounded nearly giddy. “She’ll simply have to stay the night.”

“And if she is caught in the storm?” Elio asked angrily.

“Then Miss Chiara will nurse her back to health, I’m sure.”

“All according to your plan, of course,” Mr. Perlman said, amused.

“Come now,” Elio said to Mafalda. “You can hardly take credit for making it rain. Besides, do you not care for her welfare? How could you treat the possibility of her illness so callously?”

“Of course I care for her welfare! Why else would I send her into the waiting arms of a promising marriage?”

Elio sent an incredulous look to his father, who merely shrugged.

“I am going to practice,” Elio huffed. “Fetch me if there is word of Marzia.”

\---

Word did not come until the next morning. It came in the form of a note.

“‘Dearest Perlmans, I regret to inform you that Miss Marzia has fallen ill. I assure you, it is nothing too serious, and we have been treating her with utmost care. However, I think it best for her health for her to continue to stay here. She should not make the journey back to home anytime soon. I am sorry to be the bearer of unfortunate news, but I can promise you that Miss Marzia will find the best care here. Sincerely, Miss Chiara,’” Elio read out loud.

The Perlmans and Mafalda listened on silently. None looked particularly concerned.

“Well, obviously we must go see her,” said Elio. “We cannot leave her there alone.”

“And whyever not? The more time to entice Miss Chiara,” Mafalda dismissed.

“Elio,” sighed Mrs. Perlman. “She is obviously in good hands there. What could we do, except burden Miss Chiara further with our presence?” Her and Mafalda’s words were met with disbelief.

“I will not leave Mariza there alone and ill,” Elio finally declared. He stood, heading toward the door.

“Elio! Where are you going?” Mrs. Perlman asked.

“Where else? I am going to comfort Marzia.” With that, he was gone, and to his tremendous relief, no one attempted to follow him.

He began in the direction of the villa, sun reaching higher and higher into the sky until it hovered directly above him, seemingly inescapable. The ground was still permeated by yesterday’s storm and the remaining water had turned the dirt into a thick brown paste. Elio’s shoes and the hem of his pants were caked in mud by the time the villa entered into sight. His curls, once neat, were now wild and mussed by wind, and a combination of wind, sun, and exertion turned his face a rosy pink.

As one of Miss Chiara’s servants led him into the villa, he began to wish for a change of clothing. The servant led him into the drawing room, and that is when Elio realized that Miss Chiara would not be greeting him alone.

Mr. Stern and Miss Chiara were seated at a small table in the center of the room, and both looked startled by Elio’s sudden appearance. Mr. Stern stood at once, eyes on Elio, who suddenly felt his dishevelment more acutely than ever. The pink on his cheeks deepened with embarrassment. Miss Chiara remained seated, but spoke.

“Why, Mr. Perlman! Did you walk all the way here? You are looking rather … _flushed_.” Miss Chiara glanced strangely at Mr. Stern, eyes full of something mischievous that Elio could not untangle. Mr. Stern looked increasingly uncomfortable. Elio had a creeping feeling that he was being mocked.

“I apologize for my appearance,” he finally said. “But I heard my sister has fallen ill, and I wanted to see her at once.”

“Of course,” Miss Chiara answered, teasing light gone from her eyes. “I will take you to her immediately. I assure you, however, that we have taken utmost care with her. She’s sleeping currently.”

Elio followed behind Miss Chiara, sparing one last glance at Mr. Stern, who - oddly enough - was still standing. What a peculiar man.

Marzia was truly sleeping when they entered her bed room. She looked a tad pale and clammy, but besides that, fully intact. Elio breathed a sigh of relief and then perched on the side of her bed and clasped one of her clammy hands. He used his other hand to gently brush back her sweaty hair from her forehead, a familiar gesture of affection between them.

Marzia stirred at his touch, eyes blurring open. “Elly?” she asked.

“Yes,” he couldn’t help but laugh at the childhood endearment. “It’s me. I am sorry for waking you.”

“No, thank you for coming,” she said softly. “I have been such an imposition.” She suddenly spotted Miss Chiara, who was still hovering silently. “Oh, Miss Chiara, I apologize for my intrusion.”

“I have told you before - you are anything but an intrusion. Please do not apologize. In fact, I’m delighted. I mean, I’m not delighted that you are ill. I am delighted that you are here … being ill.” Miss Chiara trailed off. Elio sent a bemused look at Marzia, who was smiling softly now.

“Then at least let me thank you,” she said.

“It is no trouble. Now, I shall leave you two to some privacy. Mr. Perlman, supper is only in several hours - please, stay.”

With Miss Chiara gone, Elio resumed his petting of Marzia’s hair. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“A bit dreadful, if I am being honest,” she answered. “Don’t worry - Miss Chiara has taken such wonderful care of me. I am sure I shall recover quickly.”

Just as Elio was about to respond, perhaps tease her about Miss Chiara’s _care_ , Mr. Stern’s formidable stature suddenly encompassed nearly the entirety of the doorway. His eyes lingered on Elio’s hand in Marzia’s hair, and his brow furrowed slightly.

“I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Marzia,” he said stiffly. Then his left as swiftly as he had come.

Waiting several seconds to be sure of his absence, Marzia burst into giggles. Elio could not repress a peal of laughter. His amusement set off another cycle of giggles in Marzia, until the two were breathless and leaning on each other.

“How queer!” she finally managed. “He was quite charming when I arrived; he is only ever so stoic when you are around.”

Elio’s laughter left much quicker after that. “Well, how about Chiara around you?” Elio asked, eager for a change in subject. “She turns into a bumbling mess. She can barely string two coherent sentences together.”

“Oh, hush! She is not all that bad.”

“No, I suppose she is only delighted. Not at you being ill. At you being here … ill.” Marzia abruptly smacked him with an additional bedside pillow.

“Ow! I thought you were supposed to be ill!”

“I am,” Marzia said innocently. “Your brattiness merely revived me.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Elio grumbled.

\---

Supper did indeed come several hours later, and Elio reluctantly attended. He had spent a considerable amount of his time with Marzia begrudging the idea of spending more time with Mr. Stern, until Marzia had gotten fed up and insisted she needed more rest.

As Elio sat at the dining table, he could not help but notice there were only two places set. Miss Chiara was already occupying the one opposite him.

“Will Mr. Stern not be joining us this evening?” Elio questioned.

“Yes, I am afraid he has chosen to frequent his favorite pub down in B. tonight,” Miss Chiara said apologetically. Rather than feel relieved at being spared Mr. Stern’s company - an emotion which would have made entirely too much sense - Elio instead felt bereft. It was an obvious snub, abandoning supper when a guest was present.

“Does he often forgo meals?” he asked pointedly.

“Only when he is feeling particularly shy.”

 _There is that word again_ , he thought with exasperation. Elio thought of what Marzia had said earlier - that Oliver was only ever so stoic around Elio. _It’s not shyness. It is dislike_.

“And he goes to a pub when he feels shy? That seems rather counterintuitive.”

Miss Chiara smiled. “He is a strange man, Mr. Perlman. As his dear friend, I beg you to not hold it against him.”

 “Of course,” Elio said nonchalantly, determined to keep an unaffected air. “I would never.”

\---

The next afternoon came with Elio still present in the villa. Miss Chiara had insisted he remain as long as he wished with his sister, however many days that may be.

The day bloomed fresh and sunny, the sky a dreamy deep blue and the trees swaying in the gentle wind. Marzia was feeling slightly better; she was able to sit up easily on her own. Miss Chiara gave Elio free reign of the library, and he was using its quiet peacefulness as an opportunity to transcribe music. The day should have been perfect.

Except Mr. Stern insisted on occupying the same space as Elio. All day long, he sat in the library on the plush couch across from Elio, even when he was treated to Elio’s cold silence for hours on end. Several times, he had even attempted something resembling conversation. He had, bizarrely, gone from avoiding Elio to remaining stubbornly near him. Elio had yet to figure out why, but he knew it was devious.

“My goodness,” Miss Chiara said upon entering the library. “It is so silent in here. This will not do.” She came to stand between the couches where Elio and Mr. Stern sat. Elio looked up from his music, and the incessant scratching of Mr. Stern’s pen - which had been driving Elio to distraction - blissfully ceased.

“We must make conversation!” Miss Chiara’s eyes were teasing again. Elio suddenly felt apprehensive. Sure enough: “Elio - may I call you Elio? - what are you doing? Enlighten us.”

He had a bitter flashback to the last conversation that had occurred between the three of them, in which he detailed the many activities there were in the Italian countryside. He had mentioned transcribing music then; that was moments before he had snarked at Mr. Stern about “tolerable” dance partners. Speaking of that man, his eyes were once again on Elio, who suddenly lacked the bravery to remind either of his companions of that last conversation. It felt childish.

“It’s private,” he said instead. _Oh, great. At least_ that _wasn’t childish._

“It’s private! Oliver, did you hear that? Elio will not tell me what he is doing,” Miss Chiara said.

“Won’t he?” Mr. Stern hummed, a low sound in the back of his throat. “Well, if he doesn’t wish to share, then I dare say the wisest thing is to move on to more interesting activities.” Elio bristled. More _interesting_ ….

“Yes, or change the subject with tact,” he snipped.

“Yes, let’s,” Miss Chiara agreed. “Oliver, now you must tell us what _you_ are doing.”

“Nothing exciting, I assure you,” he said. _How shocking_ , Elio added in his head helpfully. “I am merely writing a letter to my mother.”

“Oh, you must send her my greetings!” Miss Chiara clapped with excitement. “Elio, if you have never met Oliver’s mother, you are amiss. She is the most wonderfully accomplished woman, is she not, Oliver?”

“I suppose she is,” he acknowledged. ‘Though the word ‘accomplished’ is strewn about far too carelessly these days.”

“Oliver has such high standards,” Miss Chiara sighed. “He has only met six people to satisfy them. For him to consider you accomplished, you must first be upright in character, established in career, experienced in travelling, elegant in dancing, proficient in Greek and Latin, well-read in classics …”

“And talented in the fine arts,” Mr. Stern finished for her, eyes lingering on where Elio’s music transcription sat in his lap. Feeling caught out, Elio placed his transcription roughly to the side and faced Mr. Stern directly.

“You say you can think of six accomplished people. I wonder that you know any at all,” he said.

“Are you so harsh on humanity?” Mr. Stern responded.

“No. Simply on your standards.”

“And what are yours, then? What constitutes a successful person in your eyes?”

“That’s private,” Elio said smartly. Miss Chiara let out a shout of laughter at his smart reply. Mr. Stern glared at her. He turned back to his letter, and Elio felt a swell of triumph.

\---

Elio and Marzia stayed at the villa for several more days, and Marzia’s strength was recovering steadily. Mr. Stern began to stay in for suppers and he often seemed to be lurking where Elio was. It was maddening.

Once Marzia was recovered enough to come to the sitting room - and therefore likely well enough to ride home if on a carriage - Elio wrote to the Perlmans.

“Please,” he wrote. “Send the carriage. Marzia is well enough to come home, and if I spend more time around Mr. Stern I will claw my eyes out with a spoon.”

He threw that one out. Too dramatic, even if it was true.

“Please send the carriage,” he wrote on the next piece of paper. “Marzia is well enough to come home, and we are both anxious to see you all again.” That one, he sent.

The next morning, he got his reply. “No,” said the handwriting of Mafalda. “The carriage is still broken. Marzia is still wifeless.”

“There is no conceivable way the carriage is still broken,” Elio ranted to Marzia that night. “Miss Mafalda is simply being ridiculous.”

“Have patience, Elly,” she consoled.

Sweet Marzia was correct again, it turned out - two days later, Mr. and Mrs. Perlman showed up on carriage. They thanked Miss Chiara profusely, and even stayed for tea time. As they made their way into tea, Marzia finally well enough to join them, Elio gripped his father’s arm.

“Please tell me we are leaving after this,” he hissed. “Or I am going to claw my eyes out with a spoon.” A few additional days in Mr. Stern’s hulking presence had left Elio more open to dramatizing.

They did intend to leave that day, he was reassured, and he was the first one to bundle Marzia tightly and hurry her to the carriage. He helped boost her up into it, ensuring she was settled before going to get in himself.

Before he could, however, his hand was suddenly enveloped by the warmth of another’s. He looked up, shocked, into the blue eyes of Mr. Stern, whose tan hand was cradling his, boosting him with ease up into the carriage. His hand, Elio noticed absently, was incredibly large and incredibly warm. It dwarfed Elio’s. It released him in an instant, and Mr. Stern was walking away without a word.

Elio’s hand was warm the whole ride home.


End file.
